Shadows of Imeria – May 2017 Update

And, there’s no update. I’ve been hit by the worst, the biggest, the ugliest spurt of procrastination and lack of motivation in my life.

I’m now working six days a week, eight hours a day and it’s killing my motivation and imagination. By the time I get home, after eight hours of work and almost two hours of travel (an hour to work and an hour back) I make my dinner, eat my dinner, do some kind of fun activity, relax for a moment or two and then I go to bed.

The only day off I get is a Sunday and I usually try to clean my house, fix social media, socialize, get some photography in and then I get to write a little before going to bed. It’s a continuous cycle of draining, busy weeks.

All I can say, guys, is that I’m trying. I’m still trying to work out a decent schedule so I can get more writing in. So this update was more to do with me complaining about how much less time I have for writing these days rather than how much writing I’ve got done.

I’m really sorry guys. I’ll try better next month, try even harder.

Shadows of Imeria – May 2017 Update

Cost of Being a Writer

As a writer, I almost always have the want and the need to write. So you can imagine that every time I get inspired, my need to write is felt ten times, if not a hundred times stronger. It never matters where I am or what I’m doing. I stop it and I start writing what I need to write (much like this blog post you’re reading, it’s 1 am and I just had to start writing).

I’ve been in the shower, scrubbing away the grime from my body when I get a burst of inspiration. I’ll turn off the taps, wander out and either on my phone or my computer, I’ll write what I need to write. I’ve sat down on the edge of the bath with my phone in my hand for almost an hour while the shampoo sits in my hair until I’ve finished writing. Then I will finish with my shower.

I’ve been on a date and suddenly cut my own side of the conversation short in order to write an idea out, taking about five minutes of my time away from the date. When I stopped, she seemed a lot less interested in anything I had to say. It’s safe to assume that the date never ended up going anywhere.

Countless times, I’ve stopped to write. While watching movies with friends, while cooking dinner (that one is a dangerous one, trust me on that), while at a party (try explaining to your drunk friends that you were in the bathroom to be in a quiet place while you wrote for thirty minutes…),

At least I haven’t done it in a job interview or during a sexual experience, imagine either of those…

Hiring Manager: So, why would you like to get a job with us?
Me: Hold on, just a moment, I need to write something.

Partner/Girlfriend/FWB: Keep going, I’m about to- (you can finish that sentence yourself)
Me: Wait, I need to do something, I will be right back!

I can definitely seeĀ both of those turning out negatively. Sure, I could ignore the fact I need to write, but my body starts to fidget uncontrollably and my mind starts to wander off and not pay any attention at all to what is happening around me. When my mind wanders like that, I don’t pay attention to conversations, where my bus stop is, how hot the food is that I’m eating, and plenty of other things. Getting the inspiration and creativity out of my head (be it temporarily) helps me function as a human being.

In a way, it has ruined many moments in my life for me, but writing is my life and without it, I would be lost. Every time I write while I’m inspired, I have this feeling that rushes over me, that overwhelms me completely, it’s something that I’ve never been able to feel from anything else in my life. It is perfection.

You ever seen a scene in a movie and your hair stands up on end, you forget to breathe, you feel it in your entire body? The exhilaration? That feeling of fulfillment and beauty? That’s what I get every time that I write while inspired. I wouldn’t give it up for anything or anyone.

Cost of Being a Writer

Imagination of the Past

So, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? You hardly hear from me anymore. I thought it was about time you read something that wasn’t an update for my novel or a review, something fun, something witty.

I wish you could all help me because I’m clueless when it comes to that sort of thing.

How about… imagination?

When I was a child, my imagination was intense. Everyone I saw a plane in the sky, I would close my eyes, fly up there and have a look at every single passenger before coming back down. It was vivid enough for me to believe what I saw was actually real.

Remember those days where commercial television would show (I mean, they probably still do but I just don’t watch it anymore) marathons of old tv shows? Well, the Simpsons were on one weekend and I spent the whole day watching it (I was still a child) and by the end of it, I imagined everyone, including myself, to be yellow. I saw it that way for a few hours.

It was incredible, powerful, exciting. That kind of thing drove me to want to write in the first place. To take notes of my imagination, in a way. My imagination intoxicated my body and mind and I continuously thought up new things to try, new games to play, new things to imagine. I even wrote a story in primary school about two fictional greek warriors battling to the death in the middle of a war.

If you combine the love I have for my imagination with my love of history and war along with my love for magic and fiction, then you can understand why I write.

Well in the end the blog post wasn’t witty and it wasn’t fun. It was me though, it was something different and without that, it would be just another blog.

Imagination of the Past

The Big Move

I finalized my move from my hometown in Tasmania, to a new city in Victoria. During which, I wasn’t able to get much writing done or make much progress. I wasn’t able to read any more books this week or do anything at all really.

Sometimes life knocks us over for a little while, but I’m back up and I’m working hard again now. I’ll see you all next week.

The Big Move

Bad News – Sick

For the last few days, I have been ill. The how and who aren’t particularly important, what I need to tell you is… I’m dying… Just kidding! (God, I hope that wasn’t too much.)

What’s actually important is that you won’t get this week’s blog post, sadly. Though, what I can give you, is information.

I’ve finished reading another novel to assist with my writing technique (worldbuilding mostly) and the review will be posted next week.
I’ve packed the majority of my stuff for my move. It has taken some time, but writing, catching up with friends and getting sick hasn’t allowed me to be too productive.
I am also working on creating a very detailed character chart for every character I have and will ever create.

Now, I think it’s about time I go back to rest. See you all in a week!

Bad News – Sick

The Mind Of A Writer

In day to day life, a writer sees the world differently and sometimes, they don’t see the world at all.

When a writer doesn’t have their head buried in a book, whether it be one they are creating or one they are reading, they are usually seeing the world for what it is, what it isn’t and what it could be. Their minds are always wandering, with every sight, every smell and every conversation or interaction with the world, they could see something else, something magical. That’s why they are usually distant and often distracted.

Their minds are always working, always trying to figure out where one of their stories goes next or what kind of a backstory one of their characters has. Their minds work while they work, while they sleep, while they do pretty much anything. Being a writer is to always think about what you could be writing. It’s a full-time job.

When writers are otherwise engaged with something that requires their full attention, they tend to either get really into the moment or remain silent while they try to get through whatever they are doing so they can get back to those fictional worlds they love so much. Things such as a job, socializing and other such things are usually just activities to keep other parts of themselves happy or alive.

Writers write, not because they want to, but because they have to. They are a glass that is being filled with water. The glass being their mind and the water being their thoughts. When that glass overflows, you lose the water that is spilled and that is a fear every writer has, to lose their thoughts, their words, their ability to create. When the water spills, there is a risk of it damaging itself and the environment around it. Writers usually aren’t very happy when they stop writing because they are denying a large part of themselves.

Writers react to things with a curiosity that may not be seen by most people as “sane”. They may not be the sanest of people but are usually some of the truest and honest people you will meet. This can also be seen as arrogance when a writer states their honest opinion bluntly or unexpectedly. They mean well, even if it doesn’t seem like it, trust me.

In the end, writers are slaves to the written word. They tend to fill their lives with books, make friends with fictional characters and they constantly live in fictional worlds. They overthink, stare into space, say what’s on their mind or say nothing at all. For most writers, if they can write, they are happy. They are those people who struggle to sleep because the best of their ideas pop into their heads the closer they get to falling asleep. They are also the most ambitious procrastinators you will ever meet.

One of my most favorite quotes in the world explains much of this better than I can.

A writer is a world, trapped inside a person. – Victor Hugo

And by nature, that which is trapped will always try to escape.

So, that is what I perceive a writer’s mind to be because it is how my mind tends to work. I like having the mind of a writer, it’s a truly beautiful thing. I wouldn’t trade it for the world, not when I can create my own worlds.

The Mind Of A Writer

A Loved Companion

I apologize for not posting a couple of days ago. I was getting things sorted for a friend I’ve had for 15 years.

Jess. Such a beautiful, happy and free spirit you were. Almost fifteen years old. For a pup you were such a champion. It sucks that you had to go when you were still so full of life.

I remember running through paddocks at your very first home. All those plovers that you and I narrowly avoided. Heck, I was only seven or eight back then. Good times. Good memories.

It was sad to see you go today. You were a friend to all of us. You were always here for us. We will miss you.

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